


perfect little satellites

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post S3, S3 Hiatus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 00:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7913494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yeah, I’m okay, I’m fine. I just had a bad dream, and I – I wanted to speak to you.”</p><p>Prompt: I had a bad dream about you so now I'm calling to make sure you're okay. + Fitz & Daisy. Canon compat, set during the S3 hiatus. Blood & death mentions.</p><p>Title from 'Satellite Call' by Sara Bareilles</p>
            </blockquote>





	perfect little satellites

All she can remember is that she has to run. 

The room changes in front of her in an instant. The lights go out. Ropes or plants or some kind of restraint reach out and grab at her ankles. She runs into a wall – no, a corner – no…the floor? 

 

Panting, Daisy raked her hair out of her face and pulled herself together. She checked her pulse, slowed it down, and assessed her situation. 

Disoriented, and distressed from her dream, she’d knocked or thrown herself out of bed. Her ankle hurt, possibly from where she’d kicked the wall against which the bed rested: the bed that was not in the crowded comfort of her van, nor the slightly stale but cool almost-home that was the base. No, this was another hotel venture – another of the same-but-different budget rooms she’d been switching between over the last few weeks. Somewhere too hot, too dry, too dark. 

As she fumbled for light, the terror from the dream continued to chase her, gripping at her throat and heart. She could remember running. Why? They were being attacked - A hostage situation? Some sort of plague scenario? Zombies, maybe? It seemed ridiculous in retrospect, but it had felt so real, right down to the mud on her face and the smell of copper on the air. Right down to his clammy cheeks, and his dead weight, and the warm blood she had tried to stop pooling.

“Fitz.” 

Daisy gasped, as if speaking his name aloud would help her remember who he really was, where he really was, and that he really was safe. But it didn’t. It couldn’t. She didn’t know any of those things.

She illuminated her cell phone screen. It was 3:52am, apparently. She rubbed at her eye sockets, feeling how dry they were from the sapping air. Arizona. How many miles had she put between them now? And yet every time she blinked, his face got clearer. His dazed eyes, with tears in their corner. His shivering lips, trying to speak.

Daisy splashed her face with water, shaken by the visions. Fitz had never been shot. She’d seen him upset, desperate, wounded, but never like that. Never dying in her arms. Why her mind was concocting such horrors for her on top of those she’d already endured – _they’d_ already endured – was mystery enough, but on top of that, she wasn’t sure from where her mind was pulling these images. And especially after…recent events…she couldn’t shake the feeling that they might be more than just concoctions.

“That’s ridiculous,” she whispered to herself. She could imagine the hard eye-roll Simmons would give her, and maybe even Fitz. Or maybe he would shrug and try the psychological angle: they weren’t premonitions, but manifestations of her fear and guilt, possibly over something she felt like she had already done, metaphorically. What exactly that was, became glaringly obvious as if on cue, as she reached past a magnet of the Grand Canyon to pull a cola from the fridge. How much distance had she put between them by now? And was the Fitz dying in her dream representative of the danger she felt he was in, or of the relationship she was sacrificing by leaving him behind? 

Daisy shook her head as she popped open the soda and posited herself at the tiny kitchen table her room offered. She switched on a dim lamp and her laptop, and waited. After all, it was not like she was going to get to sleep after that anyway, especially not with her mind taking her down paths even Doctor Garner would roll his eyes at. 

Her inner monologue’s attempt to lift her own spirits failed as Daisy thought of Doctor Garner. _Andrew._ He’d died to save her too. And Trip. Maybe the dying Fitz was representative of them. One of the only remaining people she had not lost.

_Yet._

Daisy’s eyes drifted to her cell phone, still sitting by the side of the sink.

Competing impulses warred for control of her body as she slowly stood up and returned to it, picked it up and opened it. She picked her way down the small list of contacts, to his name, and stared at it for a long while, thinking. As she stared, the fear and the pain and the guilt melted away until all she could remember was the feeling of his arms around her, reassuring her. _You’re just different now._

She felt her throat close up, choking on tears and sentiment. His words had been the catalyst that had helped her steady her boat back then, and reclaim her own life and her motives. He’d helped her find her place in the world. More than he probably knew. And she’d walked out on him, and she felt awful for that, but overwhelmingly, she desired that reassurance.

Daisy took a deep breath, and dialed. 

The phone rung for a long time - so long she almost reconsidered and committed herself to forgetting the whole thing. But not quite long enough. 

 _“Mmyeah?”_ Fitz answered, groggy with sleep. Daisy lowered the phone briefly, and watched the clock tick over to 4:00am as tears filled her eyes. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed his voice.

 _“Hello?”_ Fitz greeted, trying to sound more awake now. 

“…Hi,” Daisy rasped. It was early, and she was happy, _so happy._ But he panicked. 

 _“Oh my- Daisy?"_  he spluttered. "Where _are you? Are you okay?”_

“Yeah,” she assured him, nodding as if that would help get the message through stronger. “Yeah, I’m okay, I’m fine. I just had a bad dream, and I – I wanted to speak to you.”

_“What about?”_

“I don’t know.” She sniffed, and wiped her face. “I just miss you. It’s stupid. I should probably go. They’re probably…tracking…”

_“Yeah they are. You’ve got twenty two more seconds.”_

Daisy smiled. She imagined Fitz, doing the same on the other end of the line. She could hear it in his voice. 

“Is Jemma there?” 

_“Yeah, she’s here. She woke up too. She says hi, and she misses you.”_

They’re together, Daisy realised, and her smile widened. Sleeping together. _(Finally.)_

“Congratulations,” she praised, and she could all but feel Fitz’ blush, as his pride and modesty would fight it out in the blood of his face. Then, sobering, Daisy added; “I miss her too.” 

There was a moment – just a beat, enough for it all to settle – and then Fitz warned,

_“Just gone ten seconds.”_

Daisy waited for a few more precious seconds to tick by in silence; in just knowing – savouring – their presence. Then, just as she could feel her time run out like sand through an hourglass, she whispered, 

“I love you.” 

And hung up.


End file.
